


Don't Hold Back

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Paint The Sky With Stars [10]
Category: Night World - Fandom, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Witches, Crossover, Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 04:47:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6890824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Any, Any, <i>Hey you can be with me / Yeah 'cause I just might be the one / Who will treat you like you're perfect / Who will always make you come." </i></p><p>Ronon knows Evan is holding back and calls him on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Hold Back

One thing Evan had learned in Major School was that no commanding officer should order a man to do something he wasn’t willing to do himself, which was why he submitted himself to ego beatdowns with Ronon on a regular basis. This submission had manifold purpose: it helped new recruits understand that Ronon, alien though he was, was a force to be reckoned with; it gave the marines something to have a laugh about (Chair Force officers getting their asses handed to them by the hippie-looking dude with the tats and dreadlocks); and it reminded them all that there was still improvement to be made, and that Evan was willing to work hard right alongside them.  
  
So he picked himself up off the mat, manfully ignoring the marines snickering, and dusted himself off, offered a hand to Ronon. “Thanks,” he said, because that was what he always said.  
  
Ronon swatted his hand aside. “You’ve been holding back.”  
  
Evan blinked, startled at the disruption in their routine. “Pardon?”  
  
“You’ve been holding back,” Ronon said again. “Don’t do that.”  
  
Behind Evan, the marines stirred, alarmed by the anger in Ronon’s voice.  
  
“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” Evan said automatically, even though it was true, he did hold back, had learned through careful study what a human man his size and build would be capable of, even on the higher end of athleticism.  
  
Ronon lunged at him. Evan reacted instinctively, slipping to one side. Ronon swiped, caught an arm around his waist, went to throw him. Evan shifted his weight, grounded himself, tried to throw Ronon right back. Because this - this wasn’t training. This was _battle_. Evan’s mind was going a mile a minute. Sure, Ronon was tough, let everyone have an introductory beatdown before he ran drills. He demanded excellence, and he let his students feel pain, but this aggression was -  
  
Evan’s mind went blank.  
  
No time to think.  
  
Just fight.  
  
Ronon loosed a flurry of punches at him. Evan reacted.  
  
_No chance of blocking them all. Slip, dodge, catch his wrist, step in. Lock his arms down. Stomp at his knee. Circle upward, check a kick with a knee. There - opening at the ribs. Block block block! Weight shift - going for another throw. Sweep his feet. Downward elbow. Damn he’s fast. Strong. Dammit! Wait, there, weight shift again -_  
  
Evan came back to lucidity with Ronon pinned on the mat beneath him.  
  
Ronon grinned. “There. You _were_ holding back.”  
  
Evan scrambled to his feet and backed away, chest heaving. “I’m sorry. I -”  
  
“Sir,” one of the new young marines said in breathless awe, “that was _badass._ ”  
  
Ronon caught Evan’s gaze, and Evan heard, bright and clear in his mind, _I know what you are._  
  
Evan stopped short, because Ronon was human. Humans didn’t have telepathy. Witches did - and they could speak to anyone. So could vampires, if they were strong enough at telepathy (because vampires were, in their own special way, mutated witches). But shapeshifters could only speak to each other, and even then their telepathy only worked when they were in their true form. The only shifters who could use their telepathy in human form were - dragons. First House.  
  
For the first time in Evan’s life, he could have kissed Rodney McKay, because Rodney’s voice crackled over his radio.  
  
“Major Lorne? I need you in the lab. This device looks like it might take two.”  
  
“I have to go,” Evan said, and fled.  
  
After he finished helping Sheppard initiate something in the lab for McKay, Evan said in a low voice, “Sir, could I have a word?”  
  
Sheppard looked alarmed for a moment, but then he nodded and said, “See you, Rodney,” and followed Evan into the corridor.  
  
“Lorne, look, I know our last discussion went badly, but -”  
  
“Sir, is Ronon human?”  
  
Sheppard blinked. “What? Of course he is. I mean, yes, he’s an alien, but he’s definitely human.” He looked confused but also distinctly relieved.  
  
“Are you sure? Because he spoke to me, mind-to-mind,” Evan said.  
  
“He’s definitely not lamia or vampire.” Sheppard shook his head. “There’s every possibility he’s a witch.”  
  
“But he doesn’t have the gene.”  
  
Sheppard slowed. “Are you saying…?”  
  
“I don’t know, sir. I’m just asking if you knew or had any hints.”  
  
“None.” Sheppard looked troubled. “Thanks for telling me, Major.” He spun on his heel and walked away, radioing for Teyla.  
  
When Evan stepped into the commissary for supper later that day, he had the notion that people - mostly marines - were staring at him. Studies showed that humans were actually pretty lousy at knowing when someone was watching them or stalking them unless they had extra training. Evan wasn’t human, and he knew when someone was looking at him like he was prey. He was less good at deciphering when someone might be studying him intently other than to search out potential weaknesses to exploit (as evidenced by Sheppard surprising him with a kiss last year). He moved through the line as quickly as he could, accepted whatever food the marines dished up for him, and found a corner table where no one could have his back.  
  
He was about to dig into the steak (depressingly overcooked for shifter tastes) when Ronon sat down opposite him.  
  
Evan straightened up, scanned the commissary. It wasn’t that crowded. Teyla, McKay, and Sheppard were at their usual table.  
  
“On Sateda,” Ronon said, “there are legends. About people who can turn into animals. They have some of those legends on other planets, but not quite as deeply as on Sateda. When I asked around here, the Earthers all told me pretty much the same thing: people who turn into animals don’t exist. They’re just stories used to frighten little kids. People who could do that - they’re monsters.”  
  
Evan had lots of practice at not flinching when that word was directed at him.  
  
“They’re not monsters on Sateda. They’re like gods, as powerful as the Ancestors. They could move mountains and make the sky rain fire. They were strong and fast and beautiful.” Ronon spoke casually, as if he were talking about how the sky was blue or the oceans of Lantea were wide and deep. “And some of us on Sateda were descended from those people, could take on an animal form of our own, if one of them would grace us with the gift. We had a little of their gift, some of their strength and prowess in battle - and sometimes, the ability to speak to each other. Not like the Wraith do, but without words.”  
  
“Why are you telling me this?”  
  
“The marines wouldn’t talk about it at first,” Ronon said. “About how you escaped from the Genii after they kidnapped you. But the young ones talked when I asked. They said you turned into a -” And he said a word that was apparently too much for the stargate’s translation system to handle.  
  
Evan said, “A jaguar. A black jaguar.”  
  
Ronon looked confused  
  
Evan sighed, fished a pen and notebook out of his pocket, and drew a quick sketch.  
  
“I didn’t know you could do that,” Ronon said. He took the pen from Evan and flipped to a new page in the notebook, and then he sketched quickly. And he was - good. Sure. Practiced at this skill. The creature he drew looked more like a tiger, but with leopard rosettes.  
  
“I didn’t know you could do that either,” Evan said quietly.  
  
“Are there many people like you? On Earth?” Ronon capped the pen and closed the notebook, slid them back across the table to Evan.  
  
“Many,” Evan said.  
  
“Then why does everyone else act like you’re not real?”  
  
“Because we hide.”  
  
Ronon studied him curiously. “I noticed that. Why?”  
  
“You heard what they said. We’re monsters.”  
  
“The new marines think you’re pretty badass.”  
  
“It’s not them I hide from.”  
  
“I think,” Ronon said, “you hide from everyone.”  
  
Evan slid a glance toward Sheppard’s table. “I didn’t used to.”  
  
“I think you always did. Even from yourself.” Ronon stood up. “Not today, though. You were glorious today.” And he walked away.  
  
Evan watched him go and wondered if he dared take what Ronon was offering, dared follow.  
  
He scooped up his tray, took it to the return line, and hurried after Ronon.  
  
Ronon was strolling casually along, hands in his pockets, like he had nowhere in particular to be.  
  
Evan caught up to him. “Ronon!”  
  
Ronon paused, turned, the faintest hint of amusement glinting in his eyes.  
  
Evan nodded in the direction of a secluded doorway, and Ronon followed him.  
  
“What can I do for you, Major Lorne?”  
  
“Call me Evan,” he said, leaned up, and kissed him.


End file.
